


We won’t let it

by stjarna



Series: Engineering vs Biochem - 2017 (Team Engineering) [17]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with happy end, Bus Kids - Freeform, F/M, Spoilers, season 5 spec fic, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: A S5 spec fic, based on NYCC and other spoilers and recap of the first 20 minutes of Episode 1 of S5.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta
> 
> banner by me

Jemma sighs, her eyes fixed on May, who finally appears to be asleep, resting on one of the medical beds in the ship’s infirmary after Jemma had treated her leg injury to the best of her abilities with the tools and pharmaceuticals she’s had at her disposal. Jemma looks up, scanning the room, the partly familiar, partly unfamiliar equipment.

It had been a few hours now since they’d all found themselves in different parts of the spaceship, since they’d slowly found one another. They’d heard May’s grunting and that of her opponent and entered a room just in time to watch May deal the strange masked person one final blow that knocked him out cold, while May’s injured body had sunk to the floor.

After that, Mack and Elena had helped Jemma bring May to the infirmary, before they took off to take inventory of the ship. Meanwhile, Daisy and Coulson had begun interrogating May’s attacker, seemingly the only one at this point who could give them some answers. Judging by the fact that Jemma hadn’t seen any of them yet even though she knew both would be eager to hear how May was doing, the interrogation was either going rather badly or their adversary had a _lot_ to talk about.

Jemma jerks briefly when she becomes aware that her mind has completely drifted off. She looks back down at May, measuring her pulse, before drawing in a slow breath. She feels restless, every cell in her body on alert. At the same time, physical and mental exhaustion is gnawing at her. An uneasy shiver runs up her spine, causing each hair on her skin to stand on edge. His name had echoed in her brain each second she hadn’t been otherwise occupied, like a constant background noise that pushes to the foreground whenever things around it quiet down. And each time she hears his name repeated in her mind, Jemma’s unrest grows more and more overwhelming.

She looks at the door at the far end of the infirmary; a storage room, as she’d figured out earlier when she’d tried to find supplies to treat May.

_Inventory._

_That’s what you should do._

_Stay busy. Don’t think. Don’t let your mind wander or you’ll stop functioning._

Jemma gently squeezes May’s arm, a weak smile flashing across her face over the relief that at least she’d managed to bring May’s bleeding under control and the stubborn agent had given in and found some much deserved rest. Jemma walks around May’s bed towards the door to the storage room and presses the button next to it. The door slides open with a slight creak, and Jemma steps into the small, dimly lit room with various shelves and cabinets. She’d been in a hurry earlier, only grabbing the essentials she immediately recognized and knew she’d need to help May. Now, she takes in the inventory of the room more carefully, noticing how some things had fallen to the ground, likely when the strange insect-like aliens had attacked the ship. She picks up an alien looking device, turning it front to back. Her fingers glide over the metal surface, but it is not a type of metal Jemma recognizes. Like before, she curiously observes how the ship appears to be filled with both Earth and alien technology.

_It’s fascinating, really_ , she thinks, and yet, at the same time, the uneasy feeling in Jemma’s stomach grows stronger.

A sudden loud clank echoes through the ship and the ground below Jemma’s feet shakes as if the ship had been hit. Reflexively, Jemma reaches for one of the shelves for support, her heart racing anxiously. She waits for a moment, her breathing fast and shallow, her eyes wide, every one of her senses on high alert. But nothing else happens.

_My curiosity faded once fear set in_ , Jemma hears herself say, and the sudden memory opens up a gate of flashbacks in her mind. She sees Fitz, reassuringly taking her hand and leading her out of the busy lab that had overwhelmed her senses. Her eyes wander around the storage room and suddenly she’s transported further into the past, unable to stop, until she sees a younger version of herself in a different kind of storage room, trying desperately to wipe away her friend’s blood from her hands until she feels Fitz’s hand on her shoulder and she turns around, safe in his embrace. But when her eyes refocus this time and she’s pulled back to reality, all she sees is the dark and empty storage room of a spaceship floating god-knows-where in the universe.

Jemma’s chin begins to quiver, and her eyes fill with tears.

_Don’t let your mind wander, or you’ll stop functioning._

It’s too late for that now. It had wandered.

Panicstricken, Jemma scans the room, and somehow manages to take three steps forward towards a cabinet with smooth glass doors. Her trembling hand reaches forward, leaving streaks on the glass as she slides to the ground, resting her back against the cabinet. She pulls up her knees, covering her eyes with one hand and allowing her tears to run freely as her body shakes with sobs.

She’s not sure how long she sits there, until Daisy’s quiet “There you are,” causes her to jerk up, her eyes burning with tears.

Jemma sniffs, wiping away the watery trails with the heel of her hand.

“We finally made some progress with that dude,” Daisy remarks, taking a step into the storage room. “At least Coulson thinks we did. He’s talking with him alone now.”

Jemma nods in understanding, trying to force her lips into a smile, but they won’t comply.

Daisy walks closer, looking full of concern. “You know, I feel like I’m having a déjà vu.” She turns around, sitting down next to Jemma, groaning slightly as her beaten and bruised body objects. “I mean, didn’t I just find you the other day in a storage room crying?”

Jemma can’t help but chuckle sadly. She sniffles again, once again reaching up to wipe away the remains of her tears. “We do seem to have a bit of a pattern, don’t we? Finding each other only to be separated again.”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy replies, barely above a whisper.

The corners of Jemma’s mouth tick up briefly. “I’m not.” She stares straight ahead for a moment, before turning to look at Daisy, full of determination. “Because you were right, Daisy. This is not how our story ends. Fitz and I belong together. And no matter how many times the bloody cosmos tries to rip us apart, I won’t stop fighting my way back to him.”

Jemma shakes her head, her lips pulling into a smile that dares to be hopeful. “And he won’t either. We promised each other. We promised each other that we won’t let anything rip us apart again. We won’t let it.”

She inhales deeply, before exhaling a shaky breath through rounded lips. “Fitz crossed the universe for me. Now I’ll do the same.”

Daisy’s brown eyes gaze back at her, one corner of her mouth pulled up into a half-smile. “You’re not alone.”

“I know.” Jemma laughs quietly in relief, before her eyes once again fill with tears. “But he is.” She squints her eyes shut, dropping her head back and drawing in a stuttering breath, trying to calm herself as a wave of panic rushes through her. “If he’s even still alive.”

“Hey. No!” Daisy exclaims, firmly squeezing Jemma’s forearm. “What happened to fighting your way back to him?”

Jemma chuckles weakly. “I am, Daisy. But I can’t rule out that possibility.”

“Yes, you can.” Daisy bobs her head with determination. “You can, because… because you would know if they’d killed him. You would feel it.”

Jemma shakes her head, grimacing with a mix of pity and sadness. “No, I wouldn’t, Daisy. I wouldn’t. There’s no scientific evidence for that kind of thinking.”

“I don’t give a—”

“But it doesn’t matter, Daisy,” Jemma interupts her friend. “Because I will not give up.”

Daisy squints at her, silently, waiting for more of an explanation.

Jemma wets her lips, pressing them into a thin line, before allowing them to pull into a weak smile. “When I came back from Maveth, Fitz told me he never gave up, because he didn’t have proof. He didn’t have proof that I was alive, but he didn’t have proof that I was dead either. And as long as he didn’t have proof either way, he couldn’t give up the possibility that I was alive, no matter how improbable that possibility was.”

Jemma pulls her shoulders up, pausing a moment before dropping them down again. “That’s how we think, Daisy. Proof. Theories. Scientific evidence. It’s the same now. I don’t have proof that Fitz is alive and I don’t have proof he is dead and so, obviously, I will work under the assumption that he is alive. And I won’t give up. I won’t stop until I have proof either way.”

Daisy scoffs, smiling one-sidedly. “Alright, fine, have it your scientific way.” She waves her finger in front of Jemma’s face. “But I’m telling you: he’s alive.”

“He better be,” Jemma replies quietly. A pained smile flashes across her face, followed by a suppressed yawn.

Daisy ticks her head in the direction of the door. “You know Mack and Elena found the private quarters. Plenty to choose from.”

“I want to stay close to May.”

“But you need to sleep,” Daisy counters.

Jemma sighs, feeling a new wave of tears pushing to the surface. “I’m so tired of sleeping alone. I miss him.”

“Hey.” Daisy gently nudges her with her shoulder, ticking her head in the direction of her stretched out legs on the floor. “I know I’m not Fitz, but I’m someone.”

Jemma smiles as tears snake down her cheeks. She nods in agreement, leaning sideways until her head rests in Daisy’s lap. She closes her eyes when she feels Daisy’s hand rubbing reassuringly up and down arm.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, Simmons, you’re hot and all, but I’m not willing to substitute for Fitz in all areas.”

Jemma can’t help but chuckle, squeezing Daisy’s knee to reprimand her friend for her rather silly joke.

“Your loss,” she manages to joke in return, before her expression grows more serious again. She sniffles quietly, contemplating for a few silent moments, before deciding to confide in Daisy. “Fitz thinks our future is dead.”

Daisy’s calming hand briefly stops. “What?”

“He thinks he killed it,” Jemma explains. “By killing Agnes, by what he did in the Framework. He thinks it’s unforgivable.” Jemma swallows hard; her throat feels uncomfortably tight. She draws in a shaky breath, noticing a tear jump off her lashes and disappear in the fabric of Daisy’s trousers. “And I never got a chance to reassure him that… that that’s simply not true.”

“Hey,” Daisy squeezes Jemma’s arm. “You did. You did reassure him, because you were by his side, and you two worked together to trick AIDA. And when I told him that we were in this together, you let him know that you were in it too.” She pauses briefly, before another thought apparently crosses her mind. “Oh, and at the diner, I saw you steal at least four fries from his plate.”

Jemma chuckles quietly at Daisy’s final example.

“Maybe that’s subtle,” Daisy continues, “but I think Fitz got the hint. I think he knows he hasn’t lost you completely. So, it’s just a matter of maybe spelling it out for him in simple plain English once we’ve got you in the same location again.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”

“And hey,” Daisy exclaims, her tone suddenly filled with excitement, “we’re on a spaceship, right? So Coulson’s sort of a captain. Or May? Well, somebody is the captain, and captains are allowed to marry people, right?”

Jemma can’t help but laugh out loud. “First of all, I’d much prefer if we got back to Earth, rather than Fitz joining us here. And second of all, could you at least let me talk to him first, before you drag us in front of an officiant?”

Daisy chuckles quietly. “Suppose that’s not an unreasonable request.”

Jemma hears her friend draw in a slow breath, as Daisy’s hand once again begins stroking up and down Jemma’s arm. “Now, how ‘bout you try that whole sleep thing?” Daisy suggests.

“What about you?” Jemma asks quietly.

“I’m right here.” Daisy squeezes Jemma’s shoulder reassuringly, and the sensation causes a smile to flash across Jemma’s face.

“Plus,” Daisy continues, “when you’ve been a runaway and lived in a van, you get used to sleeping just about anywhere and in any position. I’ll be fine sitting up.”

“Thanks, Daisy,” Jemma whispers, before closing her eyes again.

“Anytime,” Daisy replies, her hand once again rubbing Jemma’s arm. “Now sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.” Her hand stops for a moment. “Or, you know… How do you measure time in space?”

“Hours.” Jemma sighs as she drifts off to sleep. “You count the hours.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta.

A shiver runs through Fitz’s body, as if somebody has opened a window, letting in freezing cold air and waking him up. Except he can’t remember falling asleep. He sees the waitress in front of him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly ajar, coffee pot still in hand. She’s not moving—as if she were Han Solo frozen in carbonite.

Memories of what had happened before he blacked out suddenly rush back to him. Fitz begins to lower his hands, suddenly aware of how heavy his arms feel. He freezes again when he hears the door to the diner creak and a male voice pipe up.

“What about that one?”

“Boss says he wasn’t on the list,” another male voice replies, and Fitz squints in confusion. “Use the memory device on everyone else, then take the extra van and take care of him—discreetly. Once that’s done, get in touch for the coordinates of our next location.”

Fitz feels the blood in his veins run cold and an uneasy feeling, an all-too-familiar fear, creeps up his spine.

“Why not use the memory thing on that one, too? Save me the extra trip?” the first voice asks.

“Too risky. It’s still in beta. They’re afraid he might remember enough. And don’t question your orders. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The door to the diner closes and Fitz hears heavy boots taking steps in his direction. He stares straight ahead, trying to remain immobile; only his left hand tightens.

“Guess we’ll be taking a nice trip to the woods somewhere. Too bad you won’t be able to enjoy the view.” The guy is standing close enough now that Fitz can feel his presence behind him, his nose catching a whiff of garlic breath. “Now let’s see how we can carry you out of here, before the nice device goes wipey wipey on everyone else’s short-term memories.”

Fitz feels the man’s hand on his shoulder, and it’s enough to make him spring into action. He pushes his foot against the counter, spinning his barstool around. He lowers his left hand, pulling the trigger on his cloaked ICER as soon as his opponent’s body comes into view. He sees the man’s eyes widen in shock, before he drops to the floor.

Fitz jumps off the barstool, breathing fast, his heart pounding with adrenaline. For the first time since he’d snapped out of whatever stasis they had put him in, he gets a chance to take in his surroundings. He notices the still frozen customers and employees of the diner, the empty barstools where his team had sat, where Jemma had sat. His eyes wander to the unconscious man on the floor, dressed in full tact gear, his weapon on the ground next to him. Fitz clenches his jaw, switching the gun from his left hand to his right. He takes aim again, firing three more ICER bullets into the guy’s chest. His own heaves, and he fights back tears, spinning instead around and rushing for the door. He swings it open and steps outside, watching a van pull away and speed down the street.

A small part of his brain tries to tell him to stay out of sight, be cautious, but he can’t fight the overwhelming urge to run after the speeding vehicle, no matter how impossible it might be to catch up to it. He runs until his lungs burn, watching helplessly as the van turns around a corner a good three blocks down. Reality finally hits Fitz, that he’s lost sight of it completely.

He’s lost them. Her.

He bends forward, resting his hands on his knees, his right still gripping the cloaked ICER. His heart is frantic and no matter how many times he inhales, he doesn’t feel like his lungs fill with oxygen, overwhelmed from running and anxiety. He shoots up and spins around when he feels a hand on his back. The finger on the trigger relaxes when he sees the young couple, staring at him in concern.

“Are you alright?”

Fitz doesn’t reply. Can’t reply. He stumbles back in panic when the guy reaches out for him.

“Are you alright?” he repeats, taking a hesitant step forward. “Do you need help?”

Fitz feels his muscles tighten. His hands begin to tremble. He takes one final look at the confused couple, before spinning around and continuing to run.

He hears the guy call after him but ignores the stranger’s concern. He runs to the corner where the van had disappeared, and from there until he can see the next crossing.

Once again, he realizes there’s no way for him to find them now. He stops, his chest once again heaving with anxiety and exertion. He looks to the side, noticing an empty alley, and ducks inside, rushing all the way to its end. His eyes scan the area, and when he’s sure that no cameras are pointed his way, he forces his breathing to slow down.

But as soon as some of the adrenaline that had flooded his veins subsides, Fitz’s mind catches up with him, flooding him instead with memories, real and fabricated, with feelings, emotions, raw and untamed. His muscles tense to the point of physical pain. His chest constricts. He draws in furious, fiery breaths through his nostrils, but it doesn’t feel like breathing. It feels like fueling up. Charging. Until the angry fire ignites.

Fitz rushes towards the wall of one of the buildings, ramming his palm against the hard, rough surface. He lets out a scream, a roar, and is transported back to beating against the black surface of the monolith. When his hands feel numb, he turns around, scanning his surroundings even though his eyes don’t actually discern anything. The alley, the buildings, the dumpster in the corner, everything becomes blurry, begins to spin around him. Fitz leans forward, resting his hands on his knees, and succumbs to the overwhelming feeling of devastation. His body begins to shake, rattled with sobs, as tears stream down his face.

Images flash in front of his eyes that he’s unable to stop. Her face when he pushed the button at the bottom of the ocean, thinking it would be the last thing he’d ever see. Her face when he left the Playground with a backpack she’d packed, unsure how long they’d be separated. Her face, caught on the security camera, fearful as she was dragged into a portal that swallowed her for half a year. Her face before he jumped through the same portal, to save her life, to save her love. Her face before she and Davis took off after AIDA. Her face when he shot her, when he held a barrel against her head. Her face when she ICED him, ocean water clinging to his clothes, his hair, his skin. Her face when she sat next to him in a diner, grabbing one of his fries, grinning mischievously.

Her face.

Her face each time they’d been ripped apart.

_I’m tired of seeing our friends ripped apart from each other. That can’t happen to us again. I won’t let it._

Her face.

_I won’t let it._

Her smile.

_I won’t let it._

Sad and hopeful and full of determination.

_I won’t let it._

Fitz straightens up. His heart is still beating rapidly, but the feeling of panic slowly gives way to something else. His breathing becomes more regular, calms down, and his lips briefly twitch into the ghost of a smile.

“Then we won’t let it,” Fitz mutters quietly. “We won’t let it.”

He takes a deep, cleansing breath, before heading for the mouth of the alley.

* * *

Fitz jumps up from his chair, taking aim at the door when he hears a key in the lock. The door opens and Fitz tightens the grip on his gun.

Piper gasps in surprise, dropping her groceries and raising both hands in the air. “Hey, ho. What the fuck? What are you—?”

Fitz lowers his weapon, relaxing his posture and exhaling in relief.

Piper squints, slumping her shoulders and taking another step into the apartment. She kicks the door shut with her heel, her eyes wandering over her scattered groceries and a slowly growing puddle of milk, before she looks back up in annoyance.

“What did you guys do this time?” she asks drily.

“I’m not sure yet,” Fitz replies, his tone quiet, his eyes barely able to meet Piper’s.

Piper scoffs, one corner of her mouth briefly ticking up. She shakes her head, before walking silently into the small kitchen, opening the fridge, and pulling out two bottles of beer with one hand. She turns around, lifting her hand a little higher. “Beer? It’s the only thing the last agent left behind. Go figure.”

A weak chuckle escapes Fitz’s lips before they press into a thin line as tears try to push their way to the surface. He walks up to Piper, taking one of the bottles and twisting it open.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, before taking a swig.

* * *

“So, just like—” Piper brings her hands up, pretending to be immobile. “Freeze frame?”

“Yep.” Fitz nods, taking another sip from his beer, before setting it down on the table. He begins absentmindedly scratching the label with this thumbnail, avoiding Piper’s eyes.

“And when you woke up, the others were gone and one dude stayed behind to—”

“—wipe everyone’s memories and kill me,” Fitz replies without lifting his head.

“And then you shot the guy—”

“Iced him,” Fitz corrects her, but Piper continues without paying him heed.

“—and when you got out of the diner, you saw a van driving off that probably—”

“—had the others. Yes.” Fitz looks up, combing his fingers through his hair, before pulling it back to counteract the headache he’s trying in vain to ignore. He lets out a quiet groan. “Still yes. Just like the last two times I told you.”

“Hey.” Piper pushes her chair back and gets up, her angry eyes fixating on Fitz. “Less than three days ago I lost two of my best friends. I jumped out of a flying airplane, landed somewhere in Kansas like I’m Dorothy or something, made my way to the coordinates Coulson had given me, where I found new coordinates, where I found new coordinates, where I found the address and keys to this safe house. Now I arrived here four hours ago, barely managed to buy groceries, only to come back and have a gun pointed at my face. So, excuse me, if it takes me more than one—”

“’m sorry,” Fitz mutters, ducking his head and staring at the table, blinking away tears, before forcing himself to look back up. “Really. I’m sorry, Piper. I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry. It’s been—Everything’s been—”

Piper scoffs, reaching behind herself and pulling her chair closer again, before sitting back down, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Fitz repeats, tears in his eyes, shaking his head. “I never meant to—This is all my—”

“Hey,” Piper interrupts him, her posture more relaxed and her tone softer. She leans forward, resting her forearms against the edge of the table, folding her hands. “For what it’s worth: if Prince and Davis had known what would happen, they’d still put their asses on the line, okay? That’s S.H.I.E.L.D. That’s a possibility every single day.”

Fitz drops his gaze to the table, both hands wrapped around his bottle of beer. Part of him wants to believe her, part of him can’t accept her implied forgiveness.

“How’d you know where to find me anyways?” Piper asks, seemingly resigning to the fact that he won’t respond to her previous statement.

Fitz looks up, shrugging slightly. “Designed the phone Coulson gave you. Always a way to find that if you know what you’re looking for.”

Piper nods in understanding, before furrowing her brows. “I don’t understand why you weren’t on that list they had.”

Fitz huffs through his nose, continuing to scratch the label of his bottle . “Maybe I wasn’t worthy.”

“Dude, come on,” Piper says quietly, tilting her head to the side and shaking it.

Fitz shrugs. “Maybe they knew that if they kept Simmons and me together then we would figure—” He pauses, exhaling sharply. “Honestly, I don’t care why I wasn’t on that bloody list, but if they think they can rip us apart again, then they messed with the wrong people.”

Piper chuckles, before taking a sip from her beer. “Alright. So. Now what?”

Fitz ticks his head in the direction of the laptop on the table. “Bought this and—let’s say—‘upgraded’ it to fit my needs as best I could. I managed to access footage from traffic cameras while I waited for you. The van drove to a private airfield. But I haven’t managed to access satellite images or flight data yet. I can probably figure out where they were taken with a bit of extra time, but I’m not sure it would help much right now.”

“Why not?”

“They’re good. They knew exactly where to find us. They’ve clearly been tracking us. Quite possibly _all_ of us. For god knows how long.” Fitz shrugs. “And I don’t know how they’re doing it yet.”

Both his eyes and Piper’s wander to Piper’s phone on the table.

Piper raises her eyebrows. “Do they still make good old-fashioned burner phones?”

Fitz chuckles weakly, reaching for his back pocket and sliding a burner phone across the table.

Piper picks it up, forcing a grin. “Yay!” she remarks half-heartedly.

“I iced the guy who was supposed to take me out _four_ times,” Fitz explains. “Should have knocked him out four-five hours. That was two hours ago. Once he wakes up, it’s only a matter of time before they track me down here. It won’t be safe much longer.”

Piper presses her mouth into a thin line, widening her eyes. “Super.”

Fitz swallows, wetting his lips, and looks at Piper through the corners of his eyes, before admitting quietly, “I can’t do this alone.”

Piper looks up from the burner phone in her hand and sighs. “So what do we do?”

Fitz chews on his lower lip, before taking a small sip from his beer. “Coulson gave you a notebook, right? Handwritten?”

Piper brings the beer bottle to her mouth, nodding as she drinks.

“Anything or anyone in there that could help us?”

Piper shrugs, her eyes sparkling almost mischievously. “Might be a person or two. But not exactly folks with a permanent address, if you know what I mean.”

Fitz lifts the bottle of beer off the table, pointing at Piper with the same hand. “Get in touch with them. Find them. We need anyone we can get and trust.”

“And you?”

Fitz swallows his beer, before setting the bottle back on the table with an audible clunk. “I’ll take the laptop and try to track them down, while playing cat and mouse with them like they’ve never seen before to give you time.”

Piper wrinkles her forehead, looking at Fitz with skepticism. “Think that’s safe? What if they catch up to you?”

Fitz shakes his head. “They won’t. Hunter taught me a few tricks for how to shake a tail.”

An amused puff of air escapes Piper’s nose, and one corner of her mouth ticks up barely noticeably.

“Alright, so once I’ve found backup—?” she asks.

Fitz clicks his tongue, lifting his head in the direction of Piper’s hand. “Good old-fashioned burner phone.”

Piper sighs, before nodding in confirmation. Her eyes fix on Fitz, and her look is a mix of concern and pity. “You’ll be alright by yourself?”

Fitz’s gaze drops to the table. He knows Piper will notice the tears in his eyes, but he tries to hide them nonetheless. He bites his lip, sniffing and shaking his head.

“No,” he admits quietly, before lifting his eyes to meet Piper’s. “But I’ll have to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those waiting for Hunter to make an appearance: Not in this fic, although his involvement will be implied. But fear not, @agl03 prompted me a Fitz/Hunter brotp scene, and it will fit within this story, but will be posted separated (and isn't written yet ;) ). I'm trying to stick with the original three chapters I had in mind when I started this ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta.

_“Simmons!”_  
  
Jemma flinches when her name echoes through the ship’s comm system. Daisy doesn’t yell more than that, but the urgency of her tone is enough for Jemma to drop her research notes and rush down the corridor to the chamber where supplies were delivered every 84 hours (twice a week by Earth standards).   
  
They’d figured out that schedule pretty quickly in their 408 hours, or almost two and a half weeks in space. Unfortunately, Daisy hadn’t been able to hack the system so they could unlock the door and use the portal to escape, and her powers had been ineffective as well. (Plus, Coulson was reluctant to let her use her powers in what appeared to be a rusty tin can in space.) Deke, their new ally—although Simmons was very reluctant to call May’s attacker that—hadn’t been very helpful in that regard either, insisting he was unfamiliar with the ship’s system. The door locked fifteen minutes before delivery and all air was sucked out so all that remained was a deadly vacuum for anyone who tried to stay in the room when the portal opened. Then the room remained sealed for about two minutes after supplies had come through while the atmosphere in the room was reestablished. Until they could circumvent the system, Daisy, Mack, and Elena’s routine was to wait by the glass sliding door and at least observe what happened during each delivery, or rather immediately before and after, considering that time seemed to freeze right before the portal opened. Jemma had recorded all of this and any other observations she had made about the ship and its technology in her research notes.   
  
_I’ll figure it out. I know I can figure it out and get us home._  
  
Jemma stumbles down the corridor, a clank sounding through the ship with each step she takes on the metal floor. She slows down when she sees Daisy, Mack, and Elena unharmed next to the sliding doors. She rests one hand against the wall, trying to catch her breath.  
  
_I can figure it out and get us home… if people would just stop interrupting me._  
  
“What is it?” Jemma exclaims, confused and slightly annoyed.   
  
Her voice momentarily causes her friends to look in her direction, their expressions wide-eyed as if they’d seen a ghost. Her friends’ heads turn back when the sliding door next to them opens. Jemma gasps and her eyes widen in shock, instantaneously filling with tears, when Fitz steps out of the room, a backpack hanging from one shoulder. His right hand, clutching an ICER, is dripping with blood. Jemma immediately notices the source of the bleeding: a gunshot wound on his shoulder. He looks at Daisy, Mack, and Elena, his lips slightly parted, and Jemma can see in his hesitant movements that he’s not sure what to say or do.  
  
Every cell in her body wants to rush to him, wants to call out his name, hold him, kiss him, never let him go, and yet somehow Jemma’s frozen, unsure whether what she sees is real or a dream.  
  
Daisy’s lips pull into a wide grin and she reaches out to squeeze Fitz’s uninjured bicep. “Nice of you to finally show up.”   
  
One corner of Fitz’s mouth ticks up briefly into a shy half-smile, while his eyes dart nervously from Daisy, Mack, and Elena to the ground and back.   
  
“Fitz.” His name escapes her, just a whisper, and yet it seems to be loud enough for him to hear.  
  
His head shoots around and he stares down the hallway straight at her with wide, tear-rimmed eyes. “Jemma,” he exhales, barely audibly, but to Jemma the whispered sound of her name rings louder than the sound of his ICER dropping onto the metal floor.   
  
For a moment Jemma feels like everything around them disappears. She feels her body pull forward, notices a microscopic movement in Fitz towards her, but before their feet start moving, Coulson’s voice makes both of them freeze.  
  
“Fitz?”  
  
Jemma turns to watch Coulson and a limping May walk down the hallway towards them. They come to a stop next to Jemma, almost as if they were hesitant to be closer to Fitz than she is. Coulson places one hand on his hip, gesturing with the other at Fitz.   
  
“They finally got our order right,” he jokes, but a faint twitch of everyone’s mouths is all he gets in response.

* * *

They’re gathered around the large dining table in the ship’s common area, empty plates in front of them. Once Jemma had tended to Fitz’s gunshot wound, Coulson had suggested starting with dinner to give Fitz a little break. It had been a rather quiet meal, nobody wanting to be the first to ask the questions burning on everyone’s minds. But once they’d finished, Coulson had asked Fitz to give him a full report.    
  
It had surprised Jemma how calmly and patiently Fitz talked about what had happened back on Earth. How he’d escaped from the diner. How he’d teamed up with Piper. How he’d played cat and mouse with their captors for almost two weeks to give Piper time to rally backup. How Piper and Hunter had picked him up in the desert. How he’d figured out where the white monolith was. How they’d broken into the facility. How Piper and Hunter had held back their enemy, while Fitz made his way to the monolith. It hadn’t been his plan to go through the portal, but in the end, it had been the only way out for him.  
  
“And now, here I am,” Fitz concludes quietly, leaning slightly forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table, massaging his left palm with his right thumb. Jemma’s eyes are fixed on his face, studying his eyes, his nose, his brows, his lips, every microexpression. Once in awhile his eyes dart in her direction, only to shy away from her a split-second later.  
  
“Thanks, Fitz,” Coulson replies. “I think I speak for all of us when I say it’s good to have you back, even if we’d prefer being back on Earth with you, rather than you joining us out here—well except for him maybe,” he adds, ticking his head in Deke’s direction, who as usual sits silently at the far end of the table, his expression a mix of boredom and skepticism.  
  
“Hey, with the research Simmons has done up here, and the intel Fitz brought with him, there’s no doubt in my mind these two will get us out of here in no time,” Daisy remarks, one corner of her mouth ticked up into a sly grin, which Jemma can’t help but return.  
  
“Hear, hear,” Mack says and his deep voice is followed by Elena and May chiming in his chant as well.  
  
“I agree.” Coulson nods. “I was confident that Simmons would figure it out on her own, but with your combined brain power, we might just get it done a bit faster. No offense, Simmons.”  
  
“None taken, sir. I wholeheartedly agree,” Jemma replies, a smile playing on her lips, while Fitz barely looks up, only nodding shyly in agreement.  
  
“But—” Coulson taps his fingers on the table. “It’s been a long day, and we should give Fitz—and all of us for that matter—a chance to rest. Jemma, would you show Fitz the private quarters?”  
  
Fitz lifts his head, his eyes widening, and Jemma can’t tell if it’s from excitement or anxiousness.  
  
“Of course, sir.” Jemma bops her head, before pushing her chair back to stand up.   
  
“Fitz?” she asks quietly.  
  
Fitz looks up, his lips briefly twitching into a hesitant smile. He clears his throat and nods, before standing up, his gaze wandering from person to person.   
  
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “It’s good to be back.”

* * *

Jemma stops once they reach the corridor where the private quarters are. Her heart had started beating more quickly with each step they had taken. Fitz hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the common room, and his hesitant nervousness had slowly rubbed off on Jemma. She glances at him, noticing his tense posture, the way his hands are protectively tucked into his pockets while his eyes scan the ship with a mix of curiosity and fear.  
  
Jemma clears her throat. “Here we are. The private quarters. Plenty of space, really. I calculated that there were at least twenty crew members originally, and now, well… You can practically have your pick.”  
  
Fitz’s head darts in Jemma’s direction, but he doesn’t say anything and another wave of anxiety rushes through her.  
  
“If… if you want your own bunk, that is,” Jemma adds, nervously.  
  
Fitz sighs, his gaze wandering back to the hallway in front of them. Jemma feels her eyes fill with tears as his silence and her uncertainty slowly become too much to bear.  
  
“If it were up to me—” Jemma blurts out, causing Fitz to look back at her with wide-open eyes. For a moment, Jemma’s confidence wavers and she stares back at him, unable to finish her thought.   
  
_This is ridiculous_ , a voice in her head pipes up, and she exhales sharply, working up the courage to be completely honest with him.  
  
“I mean… I’d understand if you’d prefer your own bunk, but if it were up to me, I’d choose as little space between us as possible, and there’s plenty space in my bunk for both of us,” Jemma says as quickly as her tongue will allow, her words merging together.  
  
She wants to scream when Fitz continues to look back at her in silence, but after a moment his expression softens and Jemma notices the ghost of a hopeful smile on his lips.  
  
He presses his lips into a thin line, swallowing hard, before his tongue darts out briefly.   
  
“Maybe—” he remarks quietly, biting his lower lip and shrugging slightly, his eyes wandering nervously between the floor and Jemma. “Maybe you could show me your bunk first? And then we’ll see.”  
  
A smile flashes across Jemma’s face, and she lifts her head to gesture down the corridor. “It’s the third one on the right.”  
  
Fitz nods barely noticeably, the corners of his mouth quirking up briefly. Hesitantly he reaches forward and when his fingers intertwine with hers, Jemma has to fight back tears. She presses her lips together to keep from crying, her eyes gazing at their joined hands, before looking back up at Fitz. She exhales sharply, and takes a step forward, Fitz following half a step behind. She presses the button to open the sliding door to her bunk, observing Fitz’s reaction.  
  
His eyes widen and his lips part slightly. Drawn in by the breathtaking view of space, he lets go of Jemma’s hand, walking slowly into the room and towards the windows. A barely audible “Wow” escapes his lips, and Jemma can’t help but smile over his reaction. While she’d hoped Fitz would be spared being dragged to space, part of her had wished each night she went into her bunk that he could see the view.  
  
“It’s quite magnificent, isn’t it?” Jemma asks quietly, and for a split-second her words transport her back to Fitz’s bunk at the Playground, staring at a spiral galaxy framed behind glass, contemplating whether space held anything besides pain and death for them. When her mind returns to reality and she sees Fitz looking back at her—a shy smile playing on his lips—it’s as if the simple memory, a single word, brings the stronghold she’d carefully built ever since discovering he’d been replaced with an LMD crashing down.  
  
Tears shoot to her eyes and she covers her mouth to stifle the sobs shaking her body. She gasps for air, heartbroken over the way Fitz’s timid smile vanishes, replaced with worry. He takes an urgent step towards her, stretching out his arms, only to stop in his tracks, his own eyes filling with tears and doubt.  
  
“I’m sorry, Fitz.” Jemma sniffs, shaking her head as if she could shake off her emotions.  
  
His gaze falls to the floor, and he nods ever so slightly, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Nah. It’s okay. I get it. I… I’ll leave you alone and—”  
  
“No!” Jemma exclaims, taking one step towards him. She exhales a shaky breath, wiping away her tears with the heels of her hands, and straightens up, trying to will her confidence back. “No, Fitz, I don’t want you to leave. That’s the last thing I want… I… God, you have no idea, how relieved I am that you’re back. How happy that makes me.”  
  
Fitz lifts his head for a moment, a hint of hope in his eyes.  
  
“I mean,” Jemma stammers, before clearing her throat, steadying her voice. “Obviously, I would have preferred to see you back on Earth, but I am so, so happy to have you back. I… I missed you. I… I’m not crying because… I… Gosh. It’s… my emotions are all over the place, Fitz. There hasn’t been a moment to rest since… I can’t even say since when… Everything has been overwhelming, but I didn’t allow myself to _be_ overwhelmed because… well, I _couldn’t_ allow myself that, but now… now you’re back and all I want is to… but at the same time my mind… everything—”  
  
“Yeah.” Fitz nods in agreement, his eyes fixed on a spot on the metal floor. “Yeah, I get it. I understand. It all comes rushing back to you. The memories. Everything you saw. Everything I did. It haunts you.”  
  
“No, Fitz, that’s not what I—” Jemma shakes her head.  
  
“Haunts me too,” Fitz mutters, as if he were talking to himself more than to her. “What I did. All those people I tortured, killed. Lincoln. Vijay. Agnes.”  
  
“Agnes was already dead and Lincoln and Vijay—they weren’t real,” Jemma tries to interject.  
  
“I didn’t _know_ that,” Fitz yells, gesturing at himself, and the intensity of his tone makes Jemma flinch. “They were real to me. And I _enjoyed_ it. I enjoyed having that kind of power. I felt _no_ guilt. _No_ remorse. _Nothing_!”  
  
“But you feel it _now_!” Jemma yells back, taking a step towards him. She reaches up, cupping his face, wishing he would look into her soul and see the truth, but he backs away.  
  
For a moment, he holds her gaze. Then he turns his back on her, his hand nervously running through his hair, before wrapping around the back of his neck. The way her love seems to burn him shatters Jemma’s heart into even finer fragments  
  
She presses her lips into a thin line, trying to keep from crying. “You feel guilt and remorse and you torture yourself for something that wasn’t real,” she says steadfastly, walking to him and carefully placing her hand on his shoulder from behind, feeling his body stiffen beneath her touch. “And that makes you, _this_ you, this _real_ you a good person, Fitz.” 

  
“I almost killed you,” he whispers, his head hanging low, and Jemma can hear the sorrow and guilt in his voice.  
  
“Yes, you did,” she replies just as quietly.  
  
He spins around, shaking off her hand in the process, and stares at her with angry and yet pleading eyes. “How can I forget that?”  
  
Jemma’s lips part, but her mind isn’t quick enough to formulate a response.  
  
“I hate—” Fitz lifts his shoulders, helpless and struggling to find words. His eyes are tear-rimmed, and he clenches his jaw, before gesturing angrily to the side. “What she did—I—”   
  
His chest is heaving and Jemma can see his muscles tense with fury. He presses his fingers into his own chest and leans closer, as he shouts his feelings at her. “I feel sick… I feel sick and used thinking about how I kissed her, touched her, _loved_ her, what I was willing to do for her. And yet I remember _wanting_ that, wanting _her_ and… and it’s—”  
  
He pauses, his expression softening as his watery eyes meet hers. He takes a step closer, tucking a strand of Jemma’s hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin below her eye. Jemma closes her eyes, the simple gesture she’d missed for so long almost too much to bear.   
  
“I hate having memories of loving her and hating you,” Fitz admits quietly. Jemma grimaces, torn between smiling and crying, as a single tear jumps off her lashes and rolls down her cheek.  
  
“I didn’t think I could,” Fitz continues, his voice still incredibly low, but Jemma dares open her eyes again, gazing into his blue eyes, a pool of sadness and disbelief. “I didn’t think I was capable of hating you. No matter where our relationship stood, even when we were at odds, I still… I still always loved you, Jemma.”  
  
He stops again, swallowing hard and shrugging slightly, as his hand glides off her cheek. He takes a step back, and somehow the small distance he creates between them—a manifestation of the punishment Fitz believes he needs to inflict on himself—feels wider than the universe that had separated them only hours ago.   
  
“And now… now I remember what it feels like to hate you,” he remarks, his voice once again rising in volume, his fingers once again stabbing his chest. “And I want to throw up at the thought and I want to forget it, but I can’t… I _can’t_ —”  
  
He steps closer, grabbing Jemma’s arms, his eyes wide and pleading. “How can I forget that, Jemma? _How?_ ”  
  
Just as quickly as Fitz had grabbed her, he lets go of her, as if the touch had burnt him. His eyes wander to the ground, and he walks backwards, trying to retreat. Jemma can see his body trembling, as her own chin begins to quiver, as a new wave of tears pushes to the surface. She presses her lips together, fixing her eyes on him, and exhales a shaky breath, as her mind comes up with an answer.  
  
“You don’t,” Jemma replies quietly, as she gathers strength to speak her mind with more determination. “You don’t forget it, Fitz.”  
  
Slowly, Fitz looks up, his eyes shimmering behind a curtain of tears and despair.  
  
“I know,” Jemma continues. “I know, because I have these memories too, Fitz. Maybe not as many as you, but I have them, too.”  
  
She takes a step closer, her voice now steadfast and confident. “And, yes, they hurt. And yes, I will probably never forget them, but… but these memories don’t weigh a fraction of—”  
  
Fitz’s gaze wanders back to the floor, his shoulders slumped and defeated. Jemma takes a step closer, cupping his face and lifting his head.   
  
“Look at me, Fitz,” she pleads with him. He tries to evade her eyes at first, but eventually, his lock onto hers, and his fingers wrap around her wrists, holding her hands in place.   
  
“Do you remember when you agreed to go into the field with me, because even though you’d prefer to stay at Sci-Ops you didn’t want to work there without me?” Jemma recounts, her thumbs gently caressing his cheeks as she continues to speak. “Do you remember when you broke quarantine to help me find an antiserum against the Chitauri virus? How you almost jumped out of an airplane for me?”  
  
His lips twitch briefly, and the minimalistic reaction causes a smile to flash across Jemma’s face, giving her strength to continue.  
  
“Do you remember how you gave me the oxygen? How you forgave me for leaving without telling you where I went? Do you remember all the reckless things you did trying to figure out what the Monolith had done to me?”  
  
His eyes widen, and Jemma can’t help the single laugh that escapes her lips.  
  
“You really think they wouldn’t tell me?” she asks, smiling at him teasingly.  
  
He shrugs barely noticeably, and Jemma chuckles, before getting more serious again. 

“Do you remember how you held onto my hand? I was so scared because I could feel yours slip through my fingers but you held on and you pulled me back to Earth. And then you were by my side, day and night and you didn’t force me to talk. You were just there, because that’s all I needed. And then you jumped through that damn hole again to try and save a man whom I loved, but not half as much as I love you. Do you remember how you helped Mace shove Shockley into the pod so he wouldn’t blow up the Zephyr? Do you remember how just a few hours ago, you jumped through a hole in the universe _again_ to come back to me?”

Jemma pressed her palms a bit more firmly against his cheeks, her lips pulling into a smile, which grows even wider when his expression seems to grow softer. “Do you remember all these things you’ve done out of _love_ for me, Fitz? Because I do! And I could add a billion more!”  
  
She pauses, bathing for a moment in his eyes, trying to let her words sink in, before continuing, her tone calm and soft. “I have those bad memories, too, Fitz. Memories of you shooting Agnes, memories of you hating me, wanting to kill me. Those memories AIDA _forced_ on us and they _are_ real even if that world wasn’t.”  
  
Fitz shifts his head, trying to squirm away, but Jemma follows his movements, determined not to let him turn away. “But they don’t matter to me, Fitz.”  
  
Slowly, he relaxes and looks back at her.   
  
“All these other things do!” Jemma continues with determination. “Every moment I’ve spent with you in this life, this _real_ life of ours—even the bad ones, Fitz—even the bad moments in this reality, I think were good and _they_ matter. So maybe I can’t forget those horrible memories, but I can choose not to focus on them.”  
  
His chin begins to quiver, and he blinks away tears, his hands gripping her wrists more tightly. “Can you help me?” he asks, quietly, and Jemma can’t help but smile.  
  
“How about we help each other?” she suggests. “Because isn’t that when we’re always at our best? When we do things together?”  
  
He nods silently in agreement, and a ghost of a hopeful smile flashes across his face. Jemma leans closer, searching his eyes, and only when she sees how they dart to her lips and back does she dare close the gap between them, kissing him softly. The kiss is brief, and Fitz’s lips never seem to fully relax, but the familiar taste and the way he tentatively places his hands on her hips is enough to cause Jemma’s heart to beat quicker, her stomach churning with longing. Fitz rests his forehead against hers for a moment, before looking up, turning his head to the side.  
  
He ticks his head in the direction of the narrow bed. “You really think we’ll both fit on that thing?”  
  
Jemma grins, shrugging her shoulders innocently. “Only one way to find out, don’t you think?”

She lets her fingers glide down his chest, taking his hand in hers. With a gentle tug, she encourages him to follow her to the bed. She lifts the thin sheet and the rough grey blanket and reluctantly lets go of Fitz’s hand so she can crawl under the covers, pressing herself against the metal wall of her bunk. She keeps her arm extended, lifting the covers higher, and smiles encouragingly at Fitz, who looks back at her with a mix of longing and hesitation.

He exhales sharply, the corners of his mouth ticking up briefly, before he climbs onto the bed, laying down on his side, his body barely resting on the mattress.

Slowly, Jemma lowers the blanket onto him, her body relaxing as both his presence and the covers surround her with warmth. “See, plenty of space,” she remarks quietly.

A weak smile flashes across Fitz’s face. For a moment, he holds her gaze, before scooting just a little bit closer, resting his head on one hand, while the other hesitantly reaches forward, landing on Jemma’s hip. She can feel his fingers tremble, but his eyes seem calm. “Didn’t you say you wanted as little space as possible between us?” he asks, barely above a whisper.  
  
Jemma nods, her smile growing wide as she scoots closer until her body presses lightly against his. Fitz’s face lights up, and a flutter rushes through Jemma’s stomach when he leans closer, kissing her softly (but far too briefly), before rolling on his back. He stretches his arm up, waiting for Jemma to lift her head so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders. Jemma rests her head on his chest, while Fitz tucks his free arm under his.  
  
Jemma closes her eyes, drawing in a deep breath to inhale his scent. Her fingers absentmindedly run up and down the zipper of his jacket as she listens to the steady beating of his heart. She opens her eyes in surprise, pushing herself slightly up to inspect his clothes. “Is that my hoodie?”  
  
Fitz lifts his head ever so slightly. “Well, technically, it’s mine, but yeah.” One corner of his mouth pulls up into an apologetic half-smile. “Sorry for the blood and bullet hole.”  
  
Jemma furrows her brows in confusion. “Where did you find—?”  
  
“Hunter,” Fitz replies matter of factly.  
  
Jemma’s eyes widen. “Oh.”  
  
“He borrowed it for an undercover mission.”  
  
Jemma squints skeptically. “Borrowed?”  
  
Fitz purses his lips, shrugging slightly. “Stole.”  
  
Jemma can’t help but chuckle, her smile growing even wider when she notices Fitz’s face light up as well. They gaze at each other for a long moment, before Jemma rests her head back on Fitz’s chest. She lets the rhythmic beating of his heart lull her in, finding comfort in Fitz’s hand slowly rubbing up and down her arm. Part of her wants to drift off to sleep, pretend that everything is alright, that nothing but them exists, but the other half of her remembers what she’d told Daisy the first day they’d arrived on the spaceship.  
  
“Fitz,” she whispers, her fingers drawing lazy patterns on his chest.  
  
“Mm-hmm.” His voice is so quiet that Jemma wonders if he’s already half asleep.  
  
“Our future isn’t dead.”  
  
She feels his muscles tense, notices how his hand stops its comforting movement up and down her arm, hears his heart suddenly beat faster. She holds her breath, afraid it was a mistake to reveal that she’d listened in on him and AIDA.  
  
But just when the tension seems too much to bear, his muscles relax and he continues caressing her arm. He brings down his other hand, covering hers where it rests on his chest, his head now lying on the basic, bunched up pillow.  
  
“What does it look like?” he asks quietly, and Jemma can’t help but smile.  
  
She inhales deeply as if his scent will help her remember the future she’d dreamed of even better. “A home somewhere,” she tells him. “Somewhere nice. Green. In Scotland maybe. Or England. A staircase that creaks and you desperately want to fix it but I keep telling you it adds character.”  
  
He chuckles quietly, his hand tapping the back of hers briefly as if to tell her he’d fix it anyways.  
  
“A stonewall fence around a nice little yard, ” Jemma continues, ignoring his silent interjection, “where the dogs can play.”  
  
His lifts his head, and Jemma looks up intuitively, being met with his surprised eyes. “Dogs? Plural?”  
  
“I was thinking two,” Jemma confirms, before resting her head back onto his chest, returning to her vision of their future together. “A swing set for the kids.”  
  
She pauses, noticing how his heart beats a little faster, before his hand gently squeezes her shoulder. A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. She’s not sure why, but somehow she feels that his silence speaks more than a thousand words.  
  
“There’s a little bench, where we can sit and watch them,” she continues, her voice still barely above a whisper, “snuggled up with a cup of tea. And it’s perfect for watching the stars at night.”  
  
She hears him exhale, feels a puff of air tickle the crown of her head. 

“Sounds nice,” Fitz remarks quietly.

Jemma lifts her head, searching his eyes. “What about you? What do you see?”  
  
Fitz looks back at her, shrugging briefly. “Dunno. I just—” He swallows, one corner of his mouth twitching briefly. “Spend my life with you. Grow old together.”  
  
Jemma smiles widely, scrunching her nose up happily. “Sounds like our plans would be quite compatible, don’t you think?”  
  
Fitz holds her gaze, chuckling briefly as his eyes light up. “Mm-hmm.” He nods ever so slightly. “Just need to get back to Earth first.”  
  
“Tsk.” Jemma rolls her eyes in pretend protest. “You heard Daisy: we’ll get there in no time.”   
  
He laughs quietly, and Jemma can’t help but smile as she carefully scoots higher. She rests her palm against his cheek, pausing for a moment, waiting for his silent permission before leaning in to kiss him. She is still hesitant to deepen the kiss, sensing that Fitz is not ready for more heated intimacy. She releases his lips, pushing herself high enough to look straight into his eyes.  
  
“And in case that wasn’t clear, Fitz,” she admits, “I want to marry you.”  
  
His eyes widen, searching hers, while his mouth gapes slightly ajar, lost for words.  
  
“And based on what you just told me,” Jemma continues, “I assume you wouldn’t be entirely opposed.”  
  
A puff of air escapes his nose, and his lips twitch briefly. He looks back at her with a shy nervousness, his eyes shimmering behind a thin curtain of tears and Jemma feels hers well up as well.  
  
“Now Daisy’s plan is to drag us in front of the Captain of this ship,” she tells him, swallowing hard, almost too overwhelmed by her emotions, “that is to say Coulson, and have him officiate our wedding yesterday, but I don’t think this is quite the right time or place.”  
  
He continues to look at her, wide-eyed and in silence.

Jemma presses her lips together, quickly wiping away a tear rolling down her cheek, before allowing herself to smile again, pressing her hand more firmly against Fitz’s cheek. “But know that whatever the time and whatever the place, my answer will always be yes.”

Fitz reaches up, his fingers tucking away a strand of her hair, before curling around the back of her neck. A hint of a smile plays on his lips as he pulls her closer to seal her promise with his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really want some kind of comment like Daisy's "Nice of you to finally show up" in canon as a nod to Iain not being there when they filmed the first few episodes. I really, really want that and feel like it would be a very AoS thing to do.
> 
> If you read the part about the hoodie and thought "Well, this seems kind of random", it may or may not be a setup for a fic AGL03 prompted me ;)
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting. See, for once, I actually stuck to my original assumed chapter count of three. ... Admittedly, I already know there will be one 'missing scene' to be posted separately and I have an idea for a potentially smut-adjacent follow-up, but I TOTALLY STUCK WITH MY THREE PROPOSED CHAPTERS! ;)

**Author's Note:**

> [Banner in full size ('cause oh the pretty colors)](https://78.media.tumblr.com/236655d84bce80621903de643b811450/tumblr_oychhgxtoV1vejik0o2_1280.jpg)
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> [Bonus banner](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2ff6d3a2eb1664a2ab0026508eef83b2/tumblr_oychhgxtoV1vejik0o1_1280.jpg)


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